I once was lost (in middle earth)
by Shandra23
Summary: A collection of One-shots featuring various characters from LotR and The Hobbit Alternative timeline, Fluff, OFCs
1. Time line

The timeline is just supposed to be a guideline. I often change birth dates or death dates (obviously...)

* * *

Second Age (SA)

~1600 second birth of: Glorfindel

3119 birth of: Elendil

3209 birth of: Isildur

Third Age (TA)

241 birth of Arwen

2746 birth of Thorin

2770 Smaug captures the Erebor

2931 birth of Aragorn

2948 birth of Théoden

2978 birth of: Théodred, Boromir

Death of: Elfhilf (wife of Théoden, during childbirth)

2980 Arwen pledges her hand in marriage to Aragorn

2983 birth of: Faramir

2991 birth of: Éomer

2995 birth of: Éowyn

3002 death of Éomund (slain in battle) and Théodwyn (illness) (Éomer's and Éowyn's parents)

25.2.3019 Théodred dies at the fords of Isen

26.2.3019 Boromir dies near the Parth Galen

3+4.3.3019 Battle at Helms Deep

13.3.3019 Faramir is hurt

14.3.3019 Battle at the Pelennor Fields

Éowyn is hurt while killing the Witchking

Théoden dies

25.3.3019 End battle, the ring is destroyed

01.05.3019 Aragorn is crowned king

Midyears day 3019 Aragorn marries Arwen

Summer 3019: Faramir marries Éowyn

3021: Éomer marries Lothíriel


	2. Eomer:I hear the stables are nice this

Disclaimer: I do own nothing, beside the OFCs and the plot. Not making money bla bla...

A/N: This is just for fun. I am simply playing with the characters and I do not try to write cannon (to much dead characters for my taste :-) )

The following One-shots are: romantic, fluffy, tragic, silly, dramatic and probably not perfectly written but I do hope a few of you will enjoy them!

* * *

 **Chapter 1: I hear the stables are nice this time of the year** (Éomer/OFC)

 _Meduseld, 5. Mai 3006 TA_

Éomer was wistfully looking down towards the stables from his position on one of the many patios in front of Meduseld halls. How he wished he could sneak down there and take Firefoot out for a long ride. Instead, he was forced to take part in Grimbold's wedding. With fifteen Éomer found this kind of gathering boring. He neither liked the fancy clothes he was forced to wear nor all the unfamiliar people who tried to rope him into a talk. He especially detested the over ambiguous mothers who pushed their equally annoying daughters at him in hopes of catching his eyes.

 _Gold diggers,_ his cousin Théodred called them. Éomer shuddered when he thought of their overly sweet perfumes, painted faces and high pitched fake laughs. Why any man would want to marry at all was a riddle to him.

A soft giggling ripped him from his musings. It was too soft and genuine to belong to one of the annoying females from the feast. Instead he noticed a small girl, of maybe four or five years, rushing down the stairs cases towards him. A mob of blond curly hair was swishing around her head, as she looked behind her without stopping in her movement.

"Halétha!"

The girl -Halétha, hurried down the last steps and looked around, obviously searching for a good hiding place without noticing his presence. Pressing a hand to her mouth to smother her giggling, she finally found a place beside the stairs.

"Halétha!" This time the voice sounded nearer and Éomer believed to recognise it as that of Erkenbrand, Lord of the Westfold.

Without knowing why Éomer stepped out of his hiding place, that was mainly formed by the darkening sky, towards the steps. The little blonde gasped in shocked surprise, her eyes going wide when she realised that he could easily reveal her hide-out. Instead he positioned himself in such a way, that her small body was completely hidden from everyone that simply stood on the stairs and winked at her. Her big blue eyes got even wider before she presented him with a big toothy smile and pushed herself even further against the stone. Only a few seconds later, Lord Erkenbrand appeared on the steps and came to a sudden halt when he recognised the king's nephew.

"Lord Éomer," he greeted with a short bow. "I am sorry to disturb you, I am looking for my daughter. Maybe you have seen her? About this high," Erkenbrand showed him her height with his hands. "Blonde hair, blue dress?"

He resisted the urge to look at the little trouble maker and shook his head. "I am sorry Lord Erkenbrand, I fear I cannot help you. Maybe she is with the other females, dancing and showing of her dress?"

Erkenbrand snorted at that and shook his head. "You don't know my daughter, my Lord. She would rather jump in the mud and groom her pony than take dancing lessons or god forbid learn embroidery. My wife had a hard time putting her in that dress, if she gets it ripped and dirty it will be me that she will blame!" Though his voice was stern, Éomer could see the grin that wanted to form on his lips. Apparently, he agreed more with his daughter than with his wife.

"Sounds like a trouble maker!"

"You have no idea! If you would excuse me, I should find her before my wife notice her absence!" And with a last bow, Lord Erkenbrand hurried away.

After a few moments, he finally stepped back and looked at the girl. "I think it's safe for you to come out now." Grinning brightly, she pushed up against the wall and got to her feet.

"Are you hiding here too?" She asked and turned that striking blue eyes directly at him. Éomer guessed that her father had a hard time to say no to her, whenever she looked at him. Grinning he nodded at her. "Yes, I am. I don't like weddings very much."

She shrugged and plucked at the sleeve of her dress. "I like the food and the music, but I don't like to dress up. The robe is itchy and the skirt is always getting in my way!" His grin widened. "At my wedding, I will be wearing a tunic and my riding pants! And it will be in the stable, so Hulef can be there, too!" She declared dead serious and Éomer had a hard time not to laugh.

"Hulef?"

"He's my pony!"

"Ah."

"What do you think?"

 _Marring in his most comfortable and worn tunic on the back of Firefoot while the whole nobility of Rohan tried to squeeze themselves into the royal stables? Marriage never sounded so good to him._

"I think that it sounds like a good plan, however I'm not sure I would find a Lady that would go along with it!" His mind wandered to all the dressed up, perfect mannered females inside the Golden Hall and tried to imagine any of them in a casual dress up.

"You could always marry me!"

Laughing out loud he looked at the little spitfire beside him. He had not had such a good time in ages. "That is a little forward of you, don't you think, my Lady. I do not even know you name!"

"My name is Halétha of Westfold, daughter of Erkenbrand!" She told him in a practiced formal voice and even ended it with a light curtsey.

"Éomer of Rohan, son of Éomund, at your service, my Lady!" With a big grin on his face he bowed deep and offered her his arm to escort her back inside. With her on his side, the rest of the evening would not be dull. He was certain of it.

* * *

 _Meduseld, 15 June 3021 TA_

Éomer had some kind of déjà vu when he noticed the slender silhouette of a woman rushing down the stair cases to the patio he had selected to hide for a while. Instead of girlish giggling she was cursing like a sailor and trying not to trip over the hem of her dress. The mob of curly blond hair was nearly the same, just longer and flooded down her back. With unmatched determination, she jumped down the last steps, but unlike the last time she was too tall to hide beside the stone step.

"Halétha!"

It took Éomer a moment to realise that it could not be Erkenbrand, who was chasing behind her as he died two years ago, during the battle at the Isen. Without his sacrifice, things would have ended very different and they would not be celebrating Théodred's wedding to Imrahil's daughter today.

With panic in her eyes Halétha seemed to realise her unfortunate situation and looked around. When she noticed him, her look of confused surprise was likely mirrored on his own face.

"Please, hide me!" She whispered desperately and those impossible blue eyes had him moving before he realised it. Within seconds he was standing beside her and told her to get down, so he could put his cloak atop her. Not one moment later, a man he had never seen before appeared at the top of the stairs. Apparently, the stranger knew who he was, as he abruptly came to a stop and bowed deeply.

"Lord Éomer, what a surprise."

"Do I know you?"

"Galen, my Lord. I am looking for Lady Halétha, you would not have seen her, do you?"

"As a matter of fact, I have!" The Lady in question pinched him very unladylike and he had a hard time not to jump.

"You have?"

"Indeed, she and my sister just passed by. Éowyn wanted to show her our newest mearas foal."

"The stables," the other man sniffed in clear disapproval. "Why am I not surprised."

"Pompous idiot!" Halétha hissed in a low voice and Éomer agreed with her.

"Is there something else, I can do for you?" Galen seemed to realise that he was dismissed and left with a quick bow.

"You can come out now!" With a quick move, he pulled the cloak away and looked down at the pretty young woman at his feet. "Why is it that you are always trying to hide, when I meet you?"

Halétha grinned cheekily at him and took the offered hand to pull her up. "I could ask you the same thing, my Lord."

"Was that your fiancée?" Snorting she shook her head no and he felt something like relief inside his chest.

"Well he does not look like the type that would marry in a tunic inside the stables!" Éomer commented dryly.

"I have yet to find man who would go along with it!" Halétha huffed and looked as if she meant it.

"Well, you could always marry me!" He blurted out.

For a moment those blue eyes nearly popped out of her head, before she started to laugh. "Indeed, I could!" She nodded and linked her arms with his, like he offered. "I hear the stables are nice, this time of the year. Tell me more about that mearas foal."

"I'm at your service my Lady!" With a grin on his face he guided her back. With her on his side, life would never be dull. He was certain of it.


	3. Thorin:The best cinnamon rolls

**Chapter 2: The best Cinnamon rolls (this side of the Erebor)** (Thorin/OFC)  


 _Erebor, 12. March 2943 TA_

"No!"

"But Thorin…"

"No!"

"My Lord you…"

"I said no!"

With one last angry look at his advisers he stormed, well limped, out of the throne hall like a petulant child not like the king he claimed to be.

It was two years since the battle on the Lonely Mountain and though they won and reconquered their home, life here was not like anything he ever imagined. Sometimes he wished himself back on the road, where he had two functioning legs and most of all two living nephews. Instead he was a cripple of a king who could not bear to look at his sister's face out of shame. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his left leg he slowed down his pace towards the big gate. Five minutes later he had left the inside of the mountain and was on his way towards the rebuilding city.

He was dressed much too lightly for this time of the year. Without his thick fur covered coat, the cold march air hit him like a hammer but he ignored it. He also ignored the gaping crowed that was not used to see their king, limping through their city on his own. Or seeing him at all these days. He avoided the cowed whenever possible. He had no idea what possessed him to wander down the streets, he just needed to get away from his advisors. The horde of dwarfs that that always claimed to know what was best for him. This time their advice was to take a wife!

" _You need an heir, my Lord!"_

Fíli's and Kíli's face hunted his thoughts and by Mahal, he wished he could put his fist right into that stupid dwarf's face. How dare he, to remind him of his failure? Thorin knew it was his fault, that his nephews were dead! Had he not fallen to the gold sickness, things would have turned out different. His weakness had killed them and with them all possible heirs to the throne.

Had it not been for Bilbo and that pointy eared bastard, he would be dead too. Instead he survived with some heavy scars and a limp leg. In his most private moments, Thorin regretted that he was not buried beside them. But that was a selfish thought.

His people had waited years to reclaim their birth right and he was their king. It was his duty to look out for them and their safety. There was no place for personal feelings. He knew that and he knew that his advisors were right when they told him it was time for him to find a Queen. What troubled him, beside the constant remainder of his nephews, was that they already had a list with promising candidates! Like he was some stud horse that was only supposed to breed with a mare with the perfect pedigree.

He knew some of those _Ladies_ on that list. As females were outnumbered in their race and therefore treated like a rare treasure, most dwarfish women tended to be snobbish and self-centred. They could choose from a big pool of suitors and were not short on options. The higher on the social ladder they were, the more unbearable he found them. During his time as an outcast, not one of those ladies would have spared him a glance. He might have been the heir to Erebors throne, but he was a king without a mountain and without gold.

Now that he had reclaimed the mountain with all the treasures inside, each of those darrowdams nearly fell over their own feet to gain his attention. Kindly overlooking his physical imperfection, he thought bitterly.

Suddenly a mouth-watering smell reached his nose and interrupted his gloomy thoughts. Looking around he noticed with astonishment that he had nearly reached the centre of the small city without realising it. Following the heavenly scent, he came to a stop in front of a small bakery and took a deep breath.

 _Cinnamon rolls._ He had not eaten one of those since … Thorin could not even remember the last time he had one of those. Before he knew what, he was doing, he stepped inside the small, comfortable warm room and nearly moaned with the overwhelming smell that hit him. He wondered, why the shop was not overrun with customers but realised that it was after midday where most shops tended to be closed for an hour or two.

Realising his mistake, he wanted to turn around but a warm voice told him to wait and that she would be there shortly. Hesitantly Thorin remained where he was -his desire for one of those cinnamon rolls to great and looked around.

The shop was small, more a hole in the wall with just enough space for a counter and a bit of room for the waiting customers with two small tables and a few chairs. He guessed the door on the other side led to the actual baking room where the oven was located the goods were prepared.

A minute later a small darrowdam -petite really- for dwarwish standards came through the door and looked at him with a warm friendly smile, that wobbled slightly when she realised who had stepped into her shop.

"Tho- …My Lord…what…what can I do for you?" She asked clearly surprised to find her king inside her bakery, dressed awfully wrong for the weather outside and looking utterly out of space.

Thorin registered the nearly slip of his name and tried to remember if he knew her from before. It would not be the first time that he forgot a face or a name. Something about her looked familiar but he was sure he would remember someone like her. With her delicate figure and nearly white blond hair she was not exactly a common sight among his people. Tall and full figured with thick earthy coloured hair was considered beautiful among the females of his race. Furthermore, he noticed a thick scar from the left side of her cheek down towards her collarbone.

Physical imperfect -just like himself he thought.

He must have starred at her and make her uncomfortable as she started to squirm nervously on the spot and tried to cover her scar more firmly with the strands of her hair. Clearing his throat, he tried to focus.

"Forgive me, my Lady. I walked along the street and was captured by the mouth-watering scent. You would not have finished one of those cinnamon rolls already?"

From one moment to the next her features relaxed and she grinned brightly at him. "Of course, your majesty. Why don't you take a seat? I will bring you some."

Five minutes later he was biting into the sweetest, most-tasty bakery good he had ever tasted and could not supress the blissful moan that left his mouth. He could feel his cheeks heating in embarrassment but the baker just laughed.

"I see you have not lost your sweet tooth!"

Again, the feeling of familiarity overwhelmed him. "Do I know you?"

"You really do not remember?" Her green eyes grinned merrily at him. "I would be offended but it was a really long time ago. My name is Frára, we grew up together."

"Frára," he mumbled and was suddenly hit with a wave of long lost memories. Of course, he remembered his childhood friend. Though it was more feelings than actual images. They had spent every free moment together and he had cried like a girl when she had left the Lonely Mountain with her family. He especially remembered the trashing his grandfather had given him when he saw him crying.

 _Durin's do not cry. Especially not over a common girl. Do not forget your standing, Thorin! One day you will sit on my throne and I expect you to find a Queen who is worthy to sit beside you!_

Worthy! Thorin snorted inwardly. What Thrór had meant was _the right family._ Both his father and grandfather had a political marriage and neither had found happiness with their spouse. After everything he had gone through, Thorin was not willing to sacrifice that last bit of his life as well.

Looking fondly at the woman in front of him he nodded. "I used to follow you around like a besotted puppy." With interest, he noticed the blush that suddenly covered her cheeks and how she shyly avoided his eyes. For the first time in a long while Thorin could feel a smile forming on his lips.

"Tell me more about yourself, since when do you have this bakery?" He asked lightly before he leant back and took another bite of the formidable cinnamon roll. While he listened to her warm voice, his eyes wandered over her form; from her exotic hair, over the delicate structure of her face down to her small but well-proportioned form. Yes, he could understand why he had followed her around like a puppy as a lad, and realised, that he was not opposed to do it again.

Grinning he thought that he would need to increase his physical workout, given the sugary delicacies he intended to eat. Daily.

"Are you alright," Frára asked suddenly.

"Yes," he nodded and starred in her eyes. "Better than I have in a long time!"


	4. Boromir: A second chance

**Chapter 3: A second chance in life ** (Boromir/OFC) **  
**

 _Somewhere along the Anduin, 26. April 3 FA_

The noise of soft feet ripped Boromir out of his sleep. He was instantly ready for battle but he had learned a long time ago to remain motionless and wait for the right moment to react.

 _Old reflexes died hard,_ he feet got nearer and hit against something on the floor.

"Psst, you are waking them up," a childish voice whispered much too loudly and Boromir could feel a smile forming on his face as he realised what was going on.

"I can't see in the dark, Faramir!" The soft voice of a girl answered with a whine.

"Hold onto my hand, I will lead you!"

A few seconds later the two trouble makers had reached the bed and were clumsily trying to get under the blankets. Boromir had a hard time to keep himself from laughing, but that would give himself away. His wife, Sahdí, had told those two to remain in their own beds for tonight and if he was awake, he would have to send them back. Instead he remained motionless while his two children made themselves comfortable. Little Faramir settled beside his wife and Mari beside him. Like always.

 _Papa's little girl._

He felt her little body snuggle against his and allowed himself a sigh of content. While he could feel Mari's body relax and her breathing even out, Boromir felt his own thoughts wandering. How had his life turned out like this? With a wife he was very much in love with and two great children?

Although the life he was living these days was quite the opposite from anything he had ever dreamed of, Boromir could not remember a time in his past where he had been so content and happy. His former self did not know true happiness, just conscientiousness, determination and the ever-present urge to please his father. His happiest memories were probably that of his childhood with his brother Faramir. The memory of his loved sibling still pained him. For a long time, Boromir had wanted to seek him out, but then he heard of his marriage to the Lady of Rohan and knew that his brother was taken care of. Faramir did not need him. Not anymore.

Closing his eyes, he thought back to that fateful day six years ago, on the grounds of Parth Galen, where his greed and mental weakness had nearly doomed everyone and everything he had sworn to protect. In the end, he had come to his senses and regained back his honour. His sacrifice had rescued the lives of his little Hobbit friends, at the price of his own. Or so he had thought. The last thing he remembered was talking to Aragorn and then only darkness. After that, his first memory was pain. His second, third and fourth memory was not much different. Sahdí later told him that it had taken over a week before he regained consciousness for more than a few seconds and even a week longer before she was sure that he would survive his serve wounds.

She had found his funeral boat on the banks of the Anduin and somehow, he was not as dead as everyone believed him to be. His wife was a skilled healer (and blessed with a bit of magic, he was sure!) but in secret Boromir had a hard time to believe that it was her talent alone that rescued him from death grasp. Maybe the Valar had bestowed him with a second chance for the sacrifice he had been willing to make in the end? He was not sure, but if that was true he nearly threw his chance away.

He had been an ungrateful bastard towards Sahdí in the beginning. Everything she did was wrong, not enough or not reaching his expectations. When he realised that his right leg would never completely heal from the arrow wound, leaving him with a heavy limp, he had screamed at her. The insults that had left his mouth, still filled him with shame and regret though Sahdí had long forgiven him. Like she had forgiven him anything else: His tactless comments, his self-pity and lack of gratitude as well as his ignorance towards her struggles.

A lone woman, living in the woods, fending for herself had not an easy life. A lone woman fending for herself _and_ an ungrateful patient had an even harder life. Out of fear for his life she had not left his side, in the beginning and therefore no chance of earning money with her skills, beside selling a few herbs to villager's brave enough to seek her out.

The reason for their healthy respect of his wife were _Fuin_ and _Dae_ , her two giant sized wolves. She had found them as orphaned pups and rescued them from certain death which they paid her back with an unmatched loyalty (which was not normal but maybe had something to do with her doormat magical skills).

Boromir had no doubt that they had demonstrated, quite bloodily, what happened to those who dared to lay a hand to their lady. He and those beasts had come to an agreement by now: He would treat her right and they in return would not maul him.

It had taken him some time to get over his self-pity and self-importance to finally see the person in front of him. The brave soul who had rescued him from certain death, sheltered and feed him, listened to all his complaints and soothed the sorrows he had about his brother and the Company he left behind.

It had taken him even longer to see the woman, but once he did he never looked away again. She had captured his heart and he was forever grateful that she reciprocated his feelings.

Sometimes he asked himself, how his life would have turned out if he had left and went back to Minas Tirith. By the time, he had healed completely, several months had gone bye. The ring had been destroyed and it would have been safe to travel home. Only that Minas Tirith no longer felt like home. Home was here with Sahdi and his children. A simple life but one filled with warmth and love.

"You are thinking too loud!" Sahdí's voice interrupted his musings. Surprised he turned his head and looked at his wife, who grinned at him in the half-shadow of their bedroom.

"Since when are you awake?"

"Since a horde of little mûmakils tried to sneak into our bed!"

"Why did you not say anything?"

"And send them back?" She laughed softly. "Why didn't you?"

"Same reason," he confessed guiltily. With a soft chuckle, she snuggled into his arms and he kissed the top of her head.

"What troubles you, love?"

"No troubles, just thinking about how l came to be here, as a husband and father of two."

"Three."

"What?"

"The correct term would be: Husband and father of three." Sahdí answered after a short moment of hesitation. Turning sharply toward her he starred into her eyes for a long moment and tried to order his thoughts.

"Really?" He asked with a stupid grin while his hand automatically reached for her belly, that was still flat and soft.

"It is still early, but I am sure. I wanted to wait a bit more before I tell you, but this seems like a good time. Are you happy?"

Surrounded by his children, with his hand spanned over her belly Boromir, former Steward of Gondor, kissed his wife in answer.

Fuin = Night

Dae = Shaddow


	5. Glorfindel: Excuse me, could you please

**Chapter 5: Excuse me, could you please fix my bad kissing?** (Glorfindel/OFC)  


 _Rivendell, 15. September 1763 S.A_

Bell-like female giggling had him quickening his pace, but it was too late. A second later he was surrounded by three beautiful elleths who all smiled brightly at him.

 _Like of a pack of wolves baring their teeth to the helpless sheep_ he thought gloomily if not a little fearful, but tried his best to appear unaffected.

"Hello Glorfindel!" They chorused.

"Hello Ladies!" He answered politely while his eyes searched for an escape route.

"We are on the way to the lake," the prettiest of the trio spoke up and fluttered her eyelashes at him. "And we wanted to ask if you would like to accompany us?"

"It is nice of you to ask, but…"

Before he could continue his refusal another elleth, a red head, grasped his arm. "We would really forever be grateful if you would watch out for us while we bath."

"Yes," a third, blonde this time, piped up and let her finger wander over his other arm. "Just image what could possibly happen to us on our own."

 _Surrounded by the guards that patrolled the border, probably nothing!_

"With a strong, experienced fighter we would feel much safer," the pretty one added while she stepped awfully close to him. From the way, she pronounced _experienced_ he knew she was talking about something else entirely. Hoping that the tips of his ears would not turn pink from embarrassment, he carefully freed himself from their grip and put a little distance between him and the trio.

"I'm sorry my Ladies, but I am afraid duty calls and I do not have the time to spend this afternoon in such a pleasant company. Lord Elrond is expecting me." And with that he turned around and fled before they had another chance to encircle them.

He did not slow down before he had reached his chambers. With a sigh, he sunk down in the chair by the window and tried to think of a solution for his problem.

With his golden looks and godly powers that Manwë gifted him with after he send him back to Middle earth, Glorfindel was a well sought after elf.

 _The heroic twice-born Balrog slayer._

Since he had reached adulthood (for the second time in his existence) a lot of elleths purchased him. Some because of his looks, others because of his status and some for both reasons but he had always avoided female company. Unfortunately, he could not remember anything from his former life beside his fighting skills. And that was more like a natural born reflex than actual memories.

He had no idea, when it begun but one of the elleths he rejected out of shyness and inexperience, told her friends a varnished story about his skills as a lover who in turn told other elves. It did not take long before the whole of Rivendell knew what a wonderful, considerate and skilful lover he was. Over time more and more elleths joined the fictional ranks of his lovers and left him with an enormous problem.

He had not even kissed a female, let alone laid with one. How should he ever experience any of that, when every elleth thought he was some sort of heroic lothario? The reality would be a disappointing experience. In the end, he came to same solution as always, but this time decided to go through with it.

* * *

Avenduíl starred at him with an open mouth after he finished telling her about his request. From all the elleths he knew, she was the only one he ever felt completely comfortable with. They had been best friends since he came back into this world and were both part of the guards. If there was someone he could ask for help, it would be her.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"What? No!" He denied vehemently and starred at her with surprise. "Why would you think that?"

She opened her mouth as if to answer him but closed it again and took a deep breath. "Why don't you take one of the elleths, that keep following you, up on her offer? I am sure at least one of them would love to help you out!"

"I already told you." He nearly whined. "They all think of me as some sort of super talented lover. What would they think of me when they realise that it is all a lie?"

"And you expect _me_ to turn you in that kind of super lover?" Now she sounded half amused half affronted.

"Well…" He had not thought that far ahead. Like every other skill, this one surely took some time to learn, regardless how good the teacher was. He could not expect to become perfect overnight. "No. I guess it takes time, but at least I would not feel the pressure to perform perfectly with you!"

The lines around her mouth turned sour and Glorfindel realised horrified that he chose his words poorly. "I did not mean…"

"Sure, you did not," she interrupted before he could correct his words.

"Avenduíl, that's not what…"

"Meet me here, after the evening meal. Don't be late!" Without giving him another chance to respond she turned around and vanished between the trees.

* * *

 _Several months later:_

Smiling softly Glorfindel starred at the sleeping elleth beside him. In many aspects Avenduíl was his complete opposite. Where his hair was light, like liquid gold, hers was darker than a starless night. His eyes were a vibrant blue, while hers were silver-grey. His skin always had a sun-kissed appearance to it, while Avenduíl's could reveal that of fresh fallen snow.

 _Like night and day!_

While his index finger slowly stroked over her soft skin Glorfindel realised how beautiful she was. Measured by elven standards she was no great beauty: Her nose was a little too long, her cheekbones not high enough, her mouth too full and her body too muscled but in his eyes, that only added to her appeal.

Over the last few months, he had finally begun to see Avenduíl the elleth not just the friend and follow guard. He liked what he saw, but was unsure how to proceed with his new-found knowledge. Their first few meetings had been awkward. He was shy, embarrassed and over excited and it had taken some time to calm his nerves and allow himself to simply feel. From that point on, things had changed and Glorfindel cherished every second he could spend in her company. These last few weeks he had tried to hint that maybe, they could be… _more_ , but the more he pushed the more she kept her distance.

A change in her breathing pattern told him that she was awake, although she did not react to his stroking fingers or the kisses he pressed against her spine.

"Why won't you allow me to court you, formally?"

At his question, she stiffened in his arms and finally turned around to looked at him with astonished eyes. "Are you making fun of me?"

"What? No!" Frowning he looked at her. Somehow their conversation reminded him a little too much of the one they had all those months ago. "Why would you ask that?"

"Why would you want to court me?" She countered and he looked at her as if she had lost her mind. Did she really not realise?

"Because I love you!"

Now she bestowed him with a look that clearly said he was insane. "What? No! You cannot love me. That is impossible!"

"Why is that impossible?"

"Because you are… _you_! Golden-perfect-twice born-you! And I'm…I'm just…me!"

"I happen to like _just you_ and you of all people should know, that I am far from being perfect. The fact that I am twice-born only makes it worse."

"But, but…" she stuttered. "You came to me, because disappointing me would not matter and…"

"What?!" Horrified by her words he starred at her before he remembered his unfortunate words from before and closed his eyes in shame. All this time, had she thought that he came to her because she did not matter?

"Avenduíl, I came to you because you were the only living being I trusted enough with my embarrassing secret. I came to you because you are the only elleth I have ever been comfortable with and I wish to court you because I can't imagine my life without you by my side."

"You mean that?" She asked with a breathless smile and when he nodded she pressed a quick kiss to his lips before she jumped out of his bed. Before he could stop her, she was dressed and at the door.

"You can court me." She told him with a wink. "You can start with escorting me to the evening meal. Don't be late!"


	6. Eomer: It's about time

**Chapter 4: It's about time!** (Éomer/(Théodred)/OFC)  


 _Edoras, 2. June 2307 TA_

"I saw her first!" Éomer hissed at his cousin while he starred at the pretty red-haired girl that was grooming one of the horses.

"I'm older!" Théodred argued.

"What has that to do with anything?"

"I'm more experienced!"

For a split-second insecurity flickered over Éomer's features before he crossed his arms in front of him and snorted. "I'm way better looking!"

"You wish!" His cousin laughed and turned around but before he could do more than one step, Éomer had grasped his arm. "What are you doing?"

"Getting acquainted with that red-head!"

"No!"

"Well…" Théodred seemed surprised about his resistance but was obviously not willing to step back. "Maybe we should let the Lady decide!"

"You mean between the future king of Rohan and his cousin?" Éomer's expression turned sour. Théodred hesitated, realising that the girl would have no other choice than to pick him. His gaze turned suddenly mischief. "We could always share."

Éomer's eyes flicked back to the girl whose hair gleamed like fire in the hot summer sun and back to his cousin. If he wanted a chance at her, and he wanted that more than anything, he would have to go with it.

"Alright!"

Crazy as it seemed she was alright with it too. Her name was Credwyn and she was in Edoras to visit her sister over the summer. It was the wildest, most exciting summer of Éomer's entirely life and it turned even better when Théodred lost his interest in her after a few weeks. For the first time in his life, Éomer was head over heels in love. When summer turned into autumn and she had to go back to her family, it felt as if someone had ripped out his heart. From the bitter tears she cried against his chest he knew that Credwyn felt the same and somehow that made it a bit easier. On their last day together she cut a long strand of her hair and put it in a small velvet bag, which he wore around his neck. He in return bestowed her with a ring. He did not tell her that it was his mother's ring, or the significance of that gesture. He never saw her again although he did look for her several times before he gave up.

Over the years, he dallied with quite a few women, though none of them could reach his heart. And while the sight of red gleaming hair never failed to capture his attention, he never took a lover who resembled her. It would only defile Credwyn's memory and memories were all that was left of her.

During the last few years, he turned slightly hard and bitter. He ignored most offers that were made in his directions and focused solely on his duties as a Marshal of the Mark. With all the threads, battles and losses it was easy to forget for a while, just the small velvet back around his neck reminded him of his broken heart.

* * *

 _Edoras, Midsummers day 3021 TA_

The wedding ceremony between Théodred and Lothíriel was no small affair and everyone of name and standing had arrived to take part in the event. Éomer had talked and clinked glasses with lots of people all evening and fulfilled his duty as Second Marschall of the Mark as well as it was expected of him. It was late when he finally found a few moments for himself. Absent minded his hand played with the velvet back around his neck while he looked at all the happy faces around him and tried not to grimace.

Théodred was dancing with his new wife who was smiling brightly at him, Queen Arwen was holding his little nephew Elboron in her arms and talking to his sister while Faramir was having a lively discussion with King Elessar and Lord Imrahil. Lord Hirluin was entertaining a group of besotted looking females and Lord Húrin was in some sort of drinking game with two of his captains. Regardless where he looked, everyone seemed happy and in high spirits.

He took a deep gulp of his mead and noticed his cousin walking in his direction.

"Éomer, you should come and dance with us," Théodred exclaimed laughingly. "I am sure you will find a lot of females all too willing…"

"No," Éomer interrupted him gruffly. "You know I don't like to dance," he tried to soften his outburst. Théodred starred at him silently, obviously not expecting to find him in such a bad mood, while everybody else was enjoying the feast. Éomer could feel his cousin's eyes boring into him and regretted that he opened his mouth at all.

"You are still wearing it," Théodred sounded surprised and for a moment Éomer had no idea what he was talking about, before he noticed his fingers playing with Credwyn's gift.

"What of it?" He shrugged and pushed it under his tunic.

"You still think of her!"

"Don't be stupid."

"You do!" Théodred exclaimed and starred at him with wide opened eyes. "I knew you were fond of her but I did not realise that you..."

"That I what?"

"That you love her!"

"Do not talk about things you don't understand!" Éomer huffed and tried to walk away but Théodred stopped him with a hand on his upper arm.

"I am sorry!" At first Éomer thought Théodred was pitying him but before he could tell him to keep his pity to himself, his cousin continued. "I really never realised how you felt about her, cousin. Had I known, I would have stepped back from the beginning."

For a long moment Éomer just looked at him before he shrugged the hand of him. "It does not matter anymore!" Without another word, he walked away.

* * *

 _Edoras, 25 August 3021 TA_

Éomer was just about to take Firefoot out for a ride, when he noticed a glimmer of red in the corner of his eyes. He turned his head to muster the woman on the other side of the stable for a second before he continued with saddling his horse. It was just a reflex these days: looking up, looking down and continue with his task. He expected nothing of it. This time though, his head flew up and around merely a second after he lowered it.

He blinked several times, but the view remained the same. There, not four meters away from him stood Credwyn, beside a smug looking Théodred who pushed her further down the stall alley. She was a bit older, taller and less carefree looking than he remembered, but before him stood the same beautiful woman who had haunted his dreams for the last fourteen years.

"Well," Théodred piped up after a few minutes of silence and looked at them with an impatient frown. "After all the trouble, I went through to find her, you could at least talk to her, cousin!"

Éomer could feel a painful tightening in his chest that reminded him that he needed to breath. He wanted to say something, anything, but words had fleet his mind and he could simply stare at her like an idiot.

Théodred shook his head and turned towards Credwyn with deep sigh. "It seems that you have rendered him speechless, Cred. Do help the man out of his misery!" When neither made any attempts to speak or move Théodred cursed loudly. "By the Valar, you two better sort this out. I expect a ring on her finger when I come back, Éomer!" With those words, he turned around and stomped out of the stable, all the while muttering under his breath.

Finally, Credwyn decided to listen to Théodred's advice and took the initiative. She stepped nearer until she was just an armlength away and he hungrily took in every detail: her slender figure, her beautiful hair, the small scar on the left side of her cheek that had not been there before, her vibrant green eyes, her slightly crooked nose and full lips. But most of all he registered his mother's ring around her neck and he finally found his voice again.

"You are still wearing it."

"I never took it off."

"Me neither," he admitted with a hoarse voice and showed her the velvet back. With hesitating slowness, she reached out for it and Éomer was quick to enfold her fingers in his much larger hand. Without thinking about it, he pressed the inside of her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

"I thought you forgot about me," Credwyn's voice was shaking with supressed emotions.

"How could I?" he shook his head in denial and added like a sappy fool: "When you left, you took my heart!"

A choked laugh left her and she pressed her free hand against his chest. "That is only fair as you held mine for all this years as well."

"Do you want it back?"

"No, you already had it for such a long time, you might keep it if you promise to be careful with it."

Éomer grinned stupidly at her and felt a lightness in his chest he hadn't felt in many years. "I will do my best." Once again, his eyes fell to the ring around her neck and Théodred's words echoed in his mind. He held up the ring between them and took a deep breath.

"It was always supposed to be worn on your finger, not your neck," He took a deep breath. "Will you marry me?"

"Of course you stupid fool, it took you long enough to ask!" And with a mischief smile she added. "And now, kiss me!"

With a happy grin, he did just that.

When Théodred returned, he found them still locked at the lips and ignorant to everything around them, but the king did not miss the ring gracing Credwyn's finger.

"It's about time!"


	7. Haldir: Forever is a long time if

**Chapter 7: Forever is a long time if you are immortal** (Haldir/OFC)  


 _Helm's Deep, 3-4 March 3019 TA_

With an annoyed smile Haldir allowed Aragorn to hug him. He had nothing against Aragorn, for a human he was bearably but that did not mean he wanted to be touched by him. Looking around he acknowledged Théoden with a nod, before his eyes wandered over men who surrounded them. He could not help the disgusted sneer that covered his face at what he saw. What had Galadriel been thinking, when she sent her Galadhrim here? Instead of a well-equipped army and battle-hardened soldiers he saw mostly common men, dressed in poorly fitting armour. Fear was written clear over their faces and the way most of them were clutching their weapons showed him that they were not familiar with them.

He would die here, they all would. And what for? For the sins of mankind. Had Isildur been stronger and destroyed the ring when he had a chance to do so, they would not be here today. Mankind was the root of all evil in his mind.

Haldir hated the race of men. He hated their rude behaviour, their narrow minds, their questionable morals and their laughable short live spans. But most of all he hated that fate made one of them into his soulmate. A soul destined to be reborn again and again until he found her. But regardless how often they crossed paths, he was doomed to lose her in the end. Haldir had gotten tired of fates cruel game a long time ago:

The first time he met her was early in second age. It was a cold winter that year. Even in March the snow was knee high in some parts of Lorien and guard duty was exhausting and difficult. When he found her, she was more dead than alive. Her frozen little body was covered by a fine layer of fresh snow and had it not been for his sharp eyes, she would have died alone and forgotten under the white blanket. The moment he touched her he _knew_ who she was, his soulmate. His second half. Haldir was so shocked that he was unable to move for a moment. It was his brother, Rúmil, that reminded him of her condition. Covered in his thick woollen coat he had carried her back to Lorien where the healers tried their best to rescue her. But after a few weeks of frail hope she died in his arms. All that was left, was the memory of a weak, timid woman that had not even realised who he was. Her name was Mabella.

The second time they crossed paths was only two or three hundred years later. A blink of an eye in his life. Her name was Enali, a beautiful redhead with intense green eyes that had him in thrall as soon as she looked at him. She was one of the Dunedain and had it not been for her husband and two children, they might have had a chance. This time the pain he felt was more intense. It was much easier to live with a dead soulmate than with one who was alive and untouchable. The longer he stayed with the Dunedain to see her, the more painful it got. Haldir never told her who he was or what she was to him, but he saw her watching him, seeking his presence and detaching herself from her family. He could not let that happen, he was not so selfish even though he wished he was. So, he left.

The third time was at the beginning of the third-time age. Haldir met her when he and his brothers were passing through a small village near Lorien. She was old. Very old and fragile. Her eye sight had left her years ago, and her hearing was not much behind. Haldir did not stay, he did not even try to find out her name. To what use? Just another name to haunt his dreams.

When he met her the fourth time, two centuries ago, he wanted to turn around and spare himself the misery. But she was neither married, old nor about to die. She was just fifteen summers and had run away from home because her parents wanted her to marry a man she despised and got lost inside the forest. She was called Liléa, a plain and pale slip of a girl. But she was his and for the first time since he met her, nothing stood in their way. He loved her with everything that was in him and her -helpless against the bond loved him back with equal intensity. For a while they were happy and Haldir's heart swelled with love and happiness every time he heard her carefree laughter, ran his fingers over her milk white skin or looked into the eyes of their daughter that had the same colour as Liléa's, a stormy blue-grey, just like the sky after a thunderstorm.

But he should have known that fate was a cruel mistress. With every passing day, he was forced to watch helplessly as her hair faded from a midnight-black into grey and her silk like skin wrinkled more and more while he stayed as young and virile as the day they had met. One fateful morning he awoke next to her dead cold body and his heart broke, but it was not until a couple of years later, when their daughter died in childbirth, together with the babe, that it truly shattered.

Nothing of her remained in this world, while he was forced to live in it. However, the worst part was knowing that he would find her again. She would look different, smell different and feel different but she would be his soulmate. But other than him would not be able to remember him or the life that they shared.

Haldir was unwilling to meet her again. He wanted to die. How else would he escape his fate? Maybe Helm's Deep would finally allow him to find peace.

When his time to die finally came, it was not like he expected. Not that he had a specific notion in mind how he would die, but this here felt wrong.

Ever since Liléa's and his daughter's death he had become more reckless, often finding himself in dangerous nearly hopeless situations. He was ready to die and playing with fire every chance he got, but now that he felt the blade stabbing his back he suddenly felt an emotion he had not expected: Fear.

Haldir always thought he would feel relieved or at least content at his very end, but never in a million years had it crossed his mind that he could be afraid. Fear was irrational, was it not? He was finally getting what he wished for: Freedom.

"Haldir," Aragorn's voice suddenly reached his ears, but it was such a faint sound that he barley heard it. His back and chest burnt like fire and he had trouble finding his breath, while he tried his best to calm himself down. With little success.

" _You are dying, dying. You will drown in your own blood."_ His mind screamed.

Dizzy with pain and the loss of blood he looked around wildly and once again heard his name. Blinking he tried to find the source of the voice but his vision was already blurred and he had trouble to focus. All he could see were dark strands of hair. Dark like Liléa's.

"Haldir!"

His name again. Too far away. Everything seemed suddenly far away.

"Haldir!"

Liléa, he thought. It was his wife who was calling him. Suddenly the pain in his chest lessened and he could breathe easier again.

"Liléa," he whispered nearly inaudible. Finally, he would be with he again. This time forever. With a smile on his face Haldir, Captain of the Galadhrim, died.

* * *

At the same time, the exhausted screams of a young woman inside the thick walls of Helm's Deep lessened and the lusty cry of a child filled the air, though both were drowned by the battle voices outside.

The babe was a boy.

He did not know it yet, but he was one half of a fated pair and this time his chance for a happy ending looked better than ever.


	8. Fíli:Smile at me even though I

**Chapter 8: Smile at me, even though I cannot see you ** (Fili/Sigird) **  
**

 _Lake Town, September 2941 TA_

It had been nothing serious in the beginning, just a flirty smile in passing and an admiring glance when her father had not been looking.

Fíli thought he was very sneaky about it, but of course Kíli noticed and poked him in the side, after he risked another smile in Sigrid's direction, who blushed rather prettily. Unfortunately, his uncle noticed too.

The glare that Thorin threw in his direction was enough to stop his flirting, at least for the moment. Fíli was not stupid enough to risk his uncle's ire and compromising their change to reach Erebor with Bard's help, because he was flirting with his daughter, would do that.

So, for the next few days he limited his flirting to a smile or two.

After that, with Kíli getting sicker, his uncle leaving them behind and Smaug attacking the city, flirting was the last thing on his mind. Staying alive seemed much more important.

In the end, it was Sigrid who bestowed him with a beautiful smile and a quick kiss to his cheek before he and the others made their way to Erebor.

It was her smile that played before his eyes as Azog's blade stabbed him through him over the cliff. Dwarfs were made from stone and rather robust against most physical damage, but they had their limits too. He heard Kíli's screams, smelled the sickening aroma of blood and felt an all-consuming pain in every part of his body, but all that he could see was Sigrid's smile.

Than everything turned black.

* * *

 _Dale, late November 2941 TA_

When he woke up again his world was still dark. The pain had lessened but was still prominent enough to make it hard to breath. A familiar voice was calling his name but before he had the chance to find out who it was unconsciousness was claiming him again.

The process repeated itself a few times and Fíli could not tell how much time passed between each occasion, but every time he awoke the same familiar, soft voice was there and he felt comforted by it. Regardless how much pain he was in or how panicked he became when unconsciousness was trying to pull him under, he knew someone friendly was at his side.

When he finally woke up for good, everything around him was pitch black. In a natural reaction, he panicked and tried to sit up.

"Fíli, don't!"

Wincing at the unexpected yet familiar voice he hesitated in his movement. Soft hands stroked over his face before they wandered towards his shoulders to push him back into a lying position.

"Please lie back, Fíli!"

"Sigrid?" He asked confused.

"Yes, it's me."

"What are you doing here? Where is here?"

"You are in Dale."

He could feel her hands stroking over the lines of his cheeks and chin and leant into her touch. The warm, gentle touch felt nice against his skin.

"How are you feeling?"

"Confused." He admitted truthfully. "What am I doing in Dale? Where is…" A new wave of panic had him sitting up straight, as he suddenly remembered what had happened. "Where are Kíli and Thorin? What about the other? Did we win the battle? Azog, he…"

"Schh. Everyone else is fine. I promise. A few minor scratches and bruises but nothing major. We won! Erebor is yours again."

That calmed him down instantly and with a tired sigh he allowed himself to lean back against the comfortable pillows.

"Where is everyone?"

"Your brother and King Thorin are with the others, doing their best to make Erebor liveable again."

Why was everyone in Erebor but him? Why was he in Dale and not with his kin?

"What happened?" Fíli was too tired to sit up again or possible to unwilling to resist Sigrid's soothing carness of his face.

"You were hurt pretty badly fighting Azog."

"How badly?" Her hands suddenly stopped her gently carness and cold dread filled him. "How bad, Sigrid?

"You were stabbed with a blade but lucky enough nothing vital was damaged," she started hesitantly. "Master Oin was able to stop the bleeding and the wounds are healing pretty good. The fall from the cliff on the other hand was much more serve…"

 _How serve?_ He wanted to ask but did not. Instead he croaked out: "Sigrid, why can I not see you?"

* * *

He was blind! _"Temporally without eye-sight"_ was how Oin put it.

Blind, his mind screamed. Blind!

A blind dwarf was as useless as a dull knife! He could no fight, he could not help to rebuild Erebor, he could not even walk five feet without help.

"Fíli?" Sigrid's voice reached him. He wanted to ignore her like he ignored all the others, but he could not. Sigrid had looked after him, for all those weeks he was unconscious. And while everyone else turned more and more away from his side, she never left him. She did not deserve his silent treatment.

"Yes?"

"I wondered, if you would like to join me in the garden?"

"To what purpose?"

"It's a nice winter's day."

"I cannot see!"

"But you can feel!" She pushed back. "You can feel the sun on your skin, the wind in your hair and smell the salt in the air."

 _But I cannot see your smile._ He thought bitterly.

"Maybe tomorrow Sigrid."

He did not join her in the garden the other day, or the day after that. It was a week later that Sigrid finally lost her patience.

"Enough with the pity party already, Fíli! You will come out with me today!" Fíli opened his mouth to argue, but before he had the chance to say anything he felt her hand above his mouth. "No argument, you promised!"

He did no such thing but gave in to her demands anyway. With a sigh, he got out of bed and allowed her to take his hand. Inwardly he steeled himself against the helpless

feeling that came with being dragged around the room. But Sigrid did not manhandle him like his brother or uncle did. Instead she slipped her arm under his and softly told him how many steps he had to take before he had turn to his left or right or how much stairs he had to deal with. All the while she told him about her morning, as if she that was the most natural thing in the world.

With a painful arch in his chest he realised that she was treating him like a normal man.

* * *

 _Dale, January 2942 TA_

Joining her in the garden became a regular thing for him. Sigrid was right, when she told him that he could not see but still had his other senses. It just took him a while to get over his bitterness to enjoy the cold wind in his hair or the feel of fresh snow on his face. He still was bitter, but slightly less so when Sigrid was around.

Over the last few months she had become a constant in his life. One he did not want to miss. She helped him to get used to his condition; how to navigate inside the house and how to rely more on his other senses. Sigrid also kicked his butt whenever he threw himself a pity-party and told him that his life was not over, but she also remained him that nothing was fixed yet. His wounds were serve and there was still hope. Fíli did not want to tell her, that she was the only one who still believed in a wonder.

By now, Kíli and Thorin had both started to hint (well demand in Thorin's case) that it was time for him to live in Erebor. _Home_ , Kíli had called it, but Erebor did not feel like home for Fíli. It was just a place he once was supposed to rule over. Bard's house, small and plain as it was, with Tilda's squealing laughter and Bain's none-stop questions about his adventures felt much more like home these days.

"Fíli?" Warmth shot threw him as he heard Sigrid's voice calling out to him. His heart started to beat just a tat bit quicker. Turning in her direction he waited for her to sit down beside him on the bench.

"Are you not cold?"

"I am a dwarf, we are not as affected by heat or frost like mankind."

"Must be nice," she mumbled and Fíli could hear her rubbing her hands against each other.

"Come here," Fíli laughed and covered her with his cape. With a satisfied grin, he felt her pressing into his side and linking her fingers with her own. It was nice to provide her with comfort for a change. She _was_ cold.

Turning his head slightly to the side he brushed against her hair and smelled the faint scent of apples. Content for the moment he asked her to describe him what she saw which she did willingly and in great detail.

"Fíli?" She suddenly asked.

"Yes?"

"What do you miss the most?"

He was silent for a while, unsure if he should tell her the truth. It sounded so cheesy. Even in his head. "You will think it's stupid."

"I will not!"

When he still did not answer her, she started to apologise. "I am sorry. It was a private question. I had no… "

"Your smile."

"What?"

"What I miss the most. Seeing you smile at me." Fíli could feel her starring at him and his cheeks started to heat up in embarrassment. "I am sorry, I should not…"

This time it was Sigrid who interrupted him. "You might not be able to see it, but you could always feel it." She whispered.

"W-What?" He stuttered. "How?"

"You have to come closer." Confused he leant slight further into her. "Closer!" This time he could hear the amusement in her voice. He was a little slow on the uptake and it took him a minute to follow her meaning but suddenly it hit him like a hammer. A big smile formed on his own face.

"How close?" He asked teasingly. "Are you smiling?"

"I guess you will have to find out on your own." She teased right back and without further ado, Fíli brushed his lips over her own to find out his answer.

* * *

Half an hour later, Kíli found them rosy cheeked and smiling brightly while they cuddled close to each other on the bench. Happy to see his brother smiling again, he turned around and left them alone. His uncle would not be happy about this, he thought amused: an elf and a human woman as princesses to Erebor. Who would have thought possible?


	9. Theoden: Once my heart was filled with

**Chapter 6: Once my heart was filled with love** (Théoden/Elfhild)  


 _Edoras, 2978 TA_

"Out of my way," Théoden barked at the elderly woman in front of the heavy wooden door, but she did not budge or even flinch at his harsh tone.

"You cannot come in, your majesty. Men have no place here!"

"I am the king!"

"You are still a man!" She replied calmly.

A loud moan was heard from behind the door and Théoden was seconds away from pushing the old hag to the side and simply step in, when the heavy hand of his best friend Helmund landed on his shoulders and held him back.

"Let the women do their work, my king. The noises are awful but I assure you they are not uncommon."

As father of five, Théoden guessed that Helmund knew what he was talking about, but it still felt wrong to leave his wife alone in a time like this. Giving the hag another glare he turned around and started to march up and down the hallway.

"Who decided that men have no right to stay with their wives during childbirth?" He muttered angrily under his breath.

"Believe me, it's not an experience you would enjoy!"

The way his battle-hardened friend was scrunching his nose had Théoden haltering in his step and raising an eye brow in question.

"It's gruesome, bloody and maddening!"

"Maddening how?"

"To just stand there and watch your wife withering and crying, while you cannot do a damn thing to lessen her pain!"

As if on command the moaning from the other side of the door got louder. His eyes snapped towards it. He was not sure if _this_ was not more maddening than being in the same room as her. Rubbing his hand across his face he tried to calm his nerves.

 _Elfhild is a strong woman, she will be fine!_

When his father had chosen her as for his bride, Théoden had been furious. She did not match the picture he had in his mind for a wife! Far from it. With her brown hair and petite, slender form she was the opposite to the tall, curvy, blonde women he liked to bed. The only remarkable thing about her in his mind (at least in the beginning), were her cornflower blue eyes.

Knowing that he had no choice in that matter, he married her but ignored her as far as possible and carried on as before. It had been the death of his father and the heavy pressure that came with wearing a crown that brought them together.

Though she was a petite and delicate woman, she had a strong will and a quick mind. Above that she was a born diplomate, where he was often too hot-headed. They complemented each other well and in secret Théoden admitted to himself that his father had chosen wisely for him.

His interest in other women subdued over the last two years. Slowly and unnoticed at first but undeniable. The tall, golden haired women he had always admired lost their appeal to him and he rather spend his evenings talking to his wife than in the company of other women. Acknowledging his feelings for her, even to himself, had been hard. Making her believe him after all the time he spent ignoring her, had been even harder but over time she had accepted it.

Loving her was as astonishing easy though and the knowledge that she loved him back still left him a little breathless. The restlessness that had always filled him and urged him to act before he thought had vanished. Instead he was…content. He had found his place in this world and Elfhild was his anchor.

And now they were expecting their first child!

A high-pitched scream ripped him from his thoughts and his eyes snapped to the door. Holding his breath, he starred at the wooden barrier until his lung started to burn. Noisily the air whooshed out of his lungs, when nothing else could be heard from the room. He was just about to start pacing again, when Elfhild screamed again. This time louder and longer.

 _That was not normal, was it?_

Cold, terrifying fear ripped through him and this time he was not willing to remain out here. Determined to get to his wife he ignored the dragon who guarded the door and gripped the handle.

"Your majesty you cannot…"

"I can," he snapped and pushed her aside to step into the room. The first thing he noticed was the smell, a nauseating mix of sweat, blood and herbs. The second was the squirming figure on the bed. Théoden did not pay any mind to the other women in the room, who had all stopped in their movements for a moment as he entered and rushed towards his wife.

She was in the middle of the giant bed, half laying half sitting against a pile of pillows behind her back. The white nightgown was soaked with sweat and clinging to her small frame and big belly like a second skin. Damp, dark hair framed her pale face that was twisted in pain and anguish.

"My Lord," she whispered in a voice that was hoarse form screaming. "What are you..." Another contraction interrupted her and Théoden could see how her whole body shook with it.

"Schh…" He soothed her and grasped her cold sweaty hand in his, while he settled his body as close to her as possible without getting in the way of the midwifes who obviously decided to ignore his presence for the time being. "I am here now. Take my hand and press as hard as you need to!" A thankful smile flittered over her face but was quickly replaced by pain, as the next contraction hit her.

"You have to press again, my Lady!" The woman at the end of the bed ordered in a soft but resolute voice. It was obvious that his wife tried to follow her orders, but after a while Théoden could feel the pressure of her fingers lessen.

"I can't…It hurts so much." She whispered after a particular heavy contraction and Théoden suddenly understood what Helmund meant when he said childbirth was _maddening._

"I can already see the head. Push! You must not stop now. It will hurt, but there is no other way!"

A broken sob left her lips and Théoden felt close to tears as well, but one of them had to be strong in this moment. Without thinking too much about it, he pushed the pillows to the side and climbed in the bed behind her. He noticed the nervous glances between the midwifes but ignored them in favour of his wife. It took him less than a minute to have her resting against his chest, his fingers safely intertwined with hers and his mouth close to her ear.

"I have you, love. I know you are strong, you can do it!"

"It hurts so much, Théoden!" She sobbed.

"I know, I know, but you have to push, Elfhild. Our child needs you to be strong!" She nodded weakly against his chest and started to follow the lead of the midwife. He continued to whisper words of love and encouragement into her ear and ignored the steel like grip she had on his hands as well as her loud pitched cries as best as he could.

"The head is there, my Lady. The worst is over!" The midwife told them after a toe-curling scream from his wife that nearly deafened him. He could feel Elfhild's body relaxing against him and for the first time in hours Théoden felt something like relief floating through him.

"Do you hear that, love? It's nearly over."

"Just one more time, my lady!"

A few minutes later a lusty scream filled the air and Théoden was momently distracted by the awareness that it was _his_ child that was screaming. His healthy child!

"It's a boy," the midwife proclaimed in his direction and his thoughts tumbled wildly in his head as the words sunk in.

 _A boy! I am a father! I have a son!_

"A boy. We have a son, love! What shall we name him?"

"Théodred!" His wife whispered so quietly that it barley reached his ear. Too quietly. Her body sagged further against him and it was only now that he finally registered that something was wrong. He had been so absorbed with his son, that he had not noticed the hectic on-goings around him, or the hushed whispers between the midwifes.

"Elfhild?" He grasped her hand, but unlike before she did not return his grip just stroked her fingers weakly over his hand. Fingers that did not reach out to hold her son who was still crying loudly. "Love?" He whispered near her ear, but got no response beside his whispered name.

"What is wrong with her?" The fear and panic that had settled down just moments before was back. And this time it was stronger than ever. "What is going on?!" He barked when no one would answer him quick enough.

"She has lost a lot of blood, your majesty." One of them finally told him. From the tone of her voice he realised at once that the situation was grave.

"How…what…" He was not sure how to ask.

"I am very sorry, your majesty but there is nothing I can do."

 _No!_ Everything in him rebelled against that statement. She could not die. Not now that they had found each other. Now that they had a son together. Their son…

 _Théodred. She has named him Théodred._

The boy was still crying and Théoden was not far away from joining him. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up until he was sitting with his back to the wall, Elfhild still firmly in his arms.

"Give me my son!" He demanded.

"Your majesty?"

"My son!" He snapped irritated. "And then leave us!" Carefully he took the crying boy form the approaching woman and settled him so that he was resting against his mother. The finger he used to carefully stroke the babes face appeared huge Théoden was once again overcome with awe at the sight.

"He is beautiful!" His wife whispered suddenly and Théoden could hear how weak she was. Fear for his wife mixed with joy over the birth of his son and left him absolutely helpless.

"Yes, he is. Just like his mother." His voice was shaking with supressed emotions and he swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in his throat.

"Liar," Elfhild mumbled. "He will take after his father. Promise me that you will look after him, Théoden." By now her voice was barely understandable and Théoden pressed her further against him, as if he could shelter her from what was to come.

"I promise, love. I was a poor husband, but I promise I will not disappoint our son." Théoden could feel all the remaining strength leave her body and he knew she was gone.

Elfhild, Queen of Rohan was dead.

"I will be the best father you can hope for, Théodred." He promised and finally allowed himself to join his son in his mournful cries.


End file.
